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David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Assimilation

Three thousand two hundred and forty tiles,
Three hundred and twelve hours, thirteen days,
Ten thousand steps walked, five miles,
Eight by eight, padded room, orderlies patrol hallways,

Thoughts patterned over, over and over,
Wits dull, under pharmaceutical pills,
Feigning defined sanity in isolated den,
Seeing different then ‘aids’ with weak wills,

Not fitting the social norm,
Emotions and thoughts invalid,
Indoctrinating those who won’t conform,
Not codependent on a screen or new salad,

Sitting cross legged, muscles sore,
Straight coat hugging me,
Arms, torso, numb, like the day before,
Staring up, the barred light is all I see,

Rocking to engage my core,
Listening to helps, words, drone,
Dying to see water upon a shore,
Here for safety yet never so alone,

Sloppy with medicinal chemicals,
Padded walls permanently stained,
Where people tried to bash their skulls,
From boredom and too much sleep attained,

Isolated torture is a maddening pain,
Socially rejected now a product of an insecure hell,
Painting their lines, difficult to abstain,
Each day, reliving how I fell,

Walking the halls, ‘I’, can’t come out,
Coming out in the room I’m trapped in,
In silence, fore it’s insane to vent by scream or shout,
Judged and charged for every mental sin,

Imprisoned, I never feel rested,
Exhausted trying to keep my mind sharp,
History forgiven, but I’m not accepted,
Seconds, hour, as I mentally cry and carp,

Days on end getting bested,
Drugged, my traumas they pierce and poke,
Building walls, while my minds molested,
Individuality embers into smoke,

Cutting brain apart, they mold,
Feeling self losing grip,
Struggling to keep my hold,
All I got not to slip,

I just want to be free,
My clarity and learned self is hazy,
Gods, some force help me!
I, think, I think I’m going crazy...
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Picture frame on a shelf,
Dreaming the baby I never got to hold,
In my arms, I wake holding self,
Each time taken leaves me cold,

The dream ends the same,
The black eyed demon takes her away,
Tears the goal in it’s twisted game,
Pleading to let her stay,

Laughing, holding her like a doll,
Rattling her at me,
Only groveling makes it stall,
Seconds added, more pathetic the plea,

Awakened in shuttered breath,
Flashes of running with her,
Her memory living an undying death,
Gone when I wake, usually all a blur,

Feeling guilt for trying to move on,
I didn’t give her support,
Didn’t notice love til she was gone,
I never gave her comfort,

Excuse of military doesn’t cajole,
A seed of guilt was sown,
Sprouting into a hole,
Emptiness I hone,

This nights dream was clear,
Vivid as day,
Demon drags me drowning in pit of beer,
Where the demon likes to play,

Submerged, I grip my child,
Feeling strings attached to her back,
Demons laughter running wild,
Swimming up, under attack,

Clawing onto shore,
I can’t cut the strings,
Details lost before,
I turn her over examining the things,

I pulled at one,
I hear a coo...
Arms flailed a ton.
When I pulled two,

She was cold,
Light in her eyes were out,
Truth began to unfold,
What the whole dream was a about,

Demon is of my own making,
Not my baby in its hand,
It is its hand, makeup flaking,
Beginning to understand,

Gestated by that hole of guilt,
Abomination of self blame and woe,
An altar of pain is what I built,
A demon catching my in the undertow,

I wasn’t there, I won’t pretend,
I blamed myself for her end,
Ridding this demon felt like killing her again,
Memory of the call crying for godsend,

In tears I begin to walk,
To starve it of my pain,
The demons cries echo and stalk,
Tearing down altar, the stain,

Burying double edged sword of abandon,
Just taking the lesson to learn,
Only way to fill the land in,
Away my head I turn,

Straying from my numbing revel,
To walk and let go,
Self made campaign, long and slow,
Dissecting a demon from my mental devil,

I’ll never forget you,
I can’t change that your gone,
Letting go, this will be new,
I think I’m ready to move on,

So true healing can begin,
More demons, quest after quest,
Seeking the light within,
To find peace and maybe find rest,
David Hasselblad May 2019
Cosmic Ball

Dressed in a suit of pinstripe stars,
He’s discussed war and played chess with Mars,
Far, in foreign solar systems,
He chuckles with their planetary distortion,
He’s gambled for the diamonds of Neptune,
Bowled infinite starlit lanes with Jupiter,
Witnessed sacred scry’s and change from Saturn,
Witnessed lies, severed ties,
Much he has seen, he who walks starlit skies,
Martini’s of primordial soup,
With a scoop of star,
Shared in lieu of chaos, with Venus,
Knocking back a few, so far,
He’s raced Mercury around the sun,
Every lap done, feeling victory, whether he’s lost or won, praises they sung, harmony rung,
He’s sat on the surface of Sol, sunglasses dawned,
Other then growth and to learn he has no defined goal,
Just playing a role,
Breaking energetic chains,
And immortal bars,
He slow dances with a myriad of stars,
Celestial bodies of divine will, power, grace,
Orbiting around him in suits, silk, suede nylon and lace,
All dancing to a distant interstellar song,
A long distant echo of light,
A throng of stars creating the constellations mighty heights,
A universe locked in constant cosmic push and pull,
Never empty, never full,
He reflects, riding the back of a wild cosmic bull,
Riding back to mother, back to varied perspectives of what is true,
Back to a planet of green and blue,
Till the next invitation come queue,
To another night in primordial stew of sights and seeings,
Another quaint Ball with fantastic cosmic beings..
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Eaten Alive by Nothing

Surrounded yet alone,
Wasteland of desperation and despair,
Reaping rotting fruit, bloats, gnats, flyblown,
Longing, loneliness is never fair,

Lanterns and candle light to keep you warm,
Dancing shadows morph to devils,
Slitting despair bleeding, breeding ticks that swarm,
They feed and breed into hungry weevils,

Burrowing through chest to feed on carrion of rotting heart,
Also feeding on air from lung,
Heart along in solitude from ventricles shredded apart,
Alienating through truth, be still my lashing tongue,

Friends are always around,
Right until you need,
A lost letter of emotion sent outbound,
Lost but never found, devils take the lead,

Numb, in slowly boiling water like a frog,
Past scars of trauma a curse,
Can only feel so much before a clog,
Until you become cold, psychotic, or worse.

Break out the old smokescreen mask,
Smoke, laugh and smile,
Survivals your only task,
Foot in front of foot until your first mile,

Decaying down to skin and bone,
Each mile a greater distance,
Always harder when you’re alone,
Exhausted, running from the devils persistence,

Until a day you want to be alone
Quarantining spread this plagues fate of hate,
Feeling like happiness is just a loan,
Someone finally listens, too little, too late,

You hug your dark cloud,
With a thirst water doesn’t sate,
Ears covered, anxiety so, so loud,
Take a shot, a smoke, anything to placate,

An infested body no one wants close,
Insect army of traumas and abuses,
Each growing into a lethal dose,
At least for now, I still have my uses,
David Hasselblad Mar 2019
Final Sunrise: Ode To A Soldier

I ran all throughout the night,
Scrambling clumsily through
foreign forests,
Exhausting my mere mortal might,
Hollers and whoops follow in chorus,

Struggling to believe, this is true,
This tree looks tall and strong,
Perhaps I’ll rest for a wink or two,
Rest the wounds that bleed my brawn,

Arrow in the back,
A deep **** along the torso,
They overcame every attack and tact,
My tried true tunic red and tore and Lo!

And behold, defeat of invincibility,
Pierced by impervious persons of pouncing pinpoint power,
A score of potent soldiers perished in peril,
A leader forced to cower,

As I sit, my breath won’t catch,
I know, they must **** me, it’s the only way,
Broad, rabid dogs play fetch,
Bark! Bark! It’s fine... just let me live long enough to see the day,

I’ve exhausted my mere mortal might,
Sun threatens to break the black skyline,
Dawn! I long for your divine lights song,
Yellow, red, orange and blue pierce the starlit sky and draws a yawn,

The air gets crisp, the mornings fate,
Dew forms on my broken breastplate,
The brisk night, ordaining dawn,
A starry umbra moves a long,

Odd that I feel no fear or hate,
Coming to terms with my current state,
Black frames preclude my sight,
Bleeding out my mere mortal might,

Light hits like a flash of flame,
Warming fingers and blood flecked face,
Finally caught my breath, oh hark!
Bark! Bark! Bark! Drawing closer with axe and mace,

Yet the hunting voices fade,
What a rush, quite the chase,
Comfortable in the position I have laid,
Blood on pain, I laugh fore they will find me slain,

On this tree I lean, down and slayed,
Sword on chest a humble pawn,
The sky clear blue mixed jade,
Feeling peace, bestowed by dawn,

One by one my mere mortal might, severs ties,
Drifting off to sleep, Lo!
My final sunrise,

The foreign soldier bled by dawn,
His sword, rested on his chest,
A face of peace yet the sword lay drawn,
We buried him under that oak tall and strong,

His respect has been earned,
Paid full in blood,
His gods bury their dead,
Commanding bodies be unburned,

Under that oak he lay unplundered,
Tall and strong, was the oldest oak,
“Coincidence he picked this ancient tree?” I wondered,
We sent him on his way, sword unsundered,

So Ode to you Soldier dead at dawn,
On your death we lay no claim,
May your gods catch your soul,
In your peaceful heavenly plane,
David Hasselblad Mar 2019
**** Toy

Cold, clad, silicone, scraggly straggling down the street,
Twisting, bending, folding to every person they meet,
Shift its face, smile, frown, cry or moan,
Not much bothers the man of silicone,

Wrestle jovially with it till your hearts content,
Till your ego satisfied, strokes your pride,
Small stains on silicone thighs,
It bends back into shape,

Down a crowded street it walks alone,
A friend to be used, whatever for,
Rolling with whatever’s in store,
It weeps alone, as it revs into a roar,

It guesses what it’s like to truly be alive,
Maybe not have to give,
But it has no bone or blood,
Manufactured, reflected social facets of false, foul virtues,

Able to spot a mask,
Complete any given task,
Its whole body is a mask, a tool,
It lives, but it is not alive,

Down a crowded street it walks alone,
End of the day draws near, hollow to the core,
White, bruised bled stains,
It weeps alone and it revs into a roar,

Its lover covers it in kisses,
“This is what it’s like to be in love.”
Its words hollow and pseudo as sin,
The silicone man knows not of authentic feeling,

Only fingered lust that stains synthetic skin,
It has programmed thoughts, cares and worries,
Confident none belong to it,
“What is an ‘I’?” Wailing for identity,

Other then a doll for use,
The **** toy doesn’t see abuse,
Only utilitarian ways to be,
Excuse after excuse not to see,

In misery,
Under guise of pain and woe,
It tries to be alive, confused,
Under god towed sky,

He screeches to the heavens,
“I am I!”
The sky calls back with a clap of angry thunder,
Down an empty street it walks alone,

Alone, alone, it can not desire or condone,
Not much bothers the man of silicone,
Synthetic, eyes, mouth, fingers and ******* sore,
It weeps alone and it revs into a roar...
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Inner Devils

I’m always, on the outside,
But I’m looking in,
Your greatest faults, I’ll abide,
I support and embrace your sin,

I’ll swallow your pain,
I’ll digest what’s inside,
I will rust your chain,
In me you can confide,

I’ll help you shift the blame,
Run from angels who refuse to see,
At your lowest, you’ll be glad I came,
But you’ll never know the real me,

Friending those who only think of self,
Always talk in a riddle,
Waiting on your secret shelf,
Musing you, while your privates you ******,

I smile when you call,
Us, only talking when you fall,
Two in a dance like notes of a fiddle,
Still, at your loneliness I maul,

I’ll smile when I’m used,
My shoulder ******* your tears,
I know when you’re confused,
I know, because I’ve scribed your fears,

I am the one who leers,
Watching your many tragic fates,
Coming when you shun your peers,
Remembering all the dates,

Suffering in total silence,
Guarding your souls flimsy, gate,
Torches and mobs gather and I stand in defiance,
While you sit at home and *******,

Think you see me so crystal clear,
You always call me when it’s late,
I listen, and drown you in a beer,
Fore I’m never one to subjugate,

I taste every tear,
Make you cold to further your career,
Your emotions I stow,
Take every blow,
For,
I am,
The Devil you know...
David Hasselblad Apr 2019
Latin Mortality

People coping carelessly,
Dissociating, crossly, staring crassly,
Stilled in fantasy and logic phallusies,
Yet time ticks and life leaks,

Money makes me more,
Under false guise of one who seeks,
Love, height, esteem, sight, seeking a dream,
Bulky bags, brimming bucks, books and buffets,

Broad, full or empty,
Doesn’t matter the stacked inventory,
It’s how the items are used,
Momento Mori,

Was your energy used efficiently?
Will you grow in elegance and prosperity?
Effortless legacies echoing down corridors of time,
What will you be remembered for?

Are you fine with what you’ve left unsaid?
Who you’ve led or wed?
Who you’ve fed a lie or made cry?
Always remember you will die,

Ten good deeds?
A score?
Does it outweigh the dark?
Do you care which heavenly bells hark?

Strong formidable, body healthy,
A traumatized mind stares at a reflection,
That of a skeleton,
Drained, caned, infamy preordained,

Bogged down by mental mortal chains,
Social strains, driving him insane,
Perspectively it will never end,
Even death is just another time encapsulated den,

Forever adding details,
To a undefined gory story,
Forever and always,
Momento Mori...
David Hasselblad Apr 2019
Devils of saintly virtues?
Or a saint of sin?
Who is evil or good?
Who bestowed such titles?

A boisterous ***** baron?
Ordained by dour dukes?
Spilled blood to pave a road?
Does your honor sunder and erode?

Was it virtuous to shove innocents?
To put them under lock and key?
Saintly, to make them fear?
Courage, to turn a blind eye?

Is it a sin to feed the starving enemy?
A devil to help a dying foreigner breath?
Bereave their suffering?
To feel guilt when malnourished prisoners beg for feed?

What makes you so noble?
Foible flags, and an adorable mantra?
A little training makes it right?
Maybe you know it does not,

Paving roads with bones and blood?
Did you join to fire a gun?
To retrieve bullets from inside of someone?
To stand for your flag and defend?

Does a medal wash away those sins?
All forgiven because you won?
Bombs dropped and humanity undone,
Another chapter in the book of justification,

Titled, ‘War is Hell’
The history of death, peace unsung,
Souls seized, leaders appeased,
From rot, money and disease,

Waiting for battle under south side trees,
What makes you better then them?
Education? A uniform?
Signing your life away to conform?

What if your not as noble as you seem?
Noble intentions in a hellish scene,
In total might, what if neither is right?
A hired killer of a higher power,

Atrocities in the name of swell intentions,
Killing for Lord Benton, or General Jenkins,
Does what you read make you mad?
Or sad?

Will war ravished ruffians take pity?
Is it wrong if they slaughter and **** your life?
Everyone in it?
Will your god founded, blessed flag save you?

Maybe they are right,
After all,
You did it to them first,
Suddenly it’s wrong? No chalking up to war is hell?

Maybe you’re lost,
Maybe notches on your gun makes you proud of past,
Maybe feel lied to, in a cloud,
Or maybe you’re a demonic psychopath,

The history of Saints is usually tattered with sin,
Passing volatile judgements upon men,
Devils usually do what they are asked,
Whether or not it should come to pass,

After all,
It was conflict that caused Edens fall,
Do you care if you’re right or wrong?
You, mercenary of the flag?

When is wrong, right?
Right, wrong?
Call you hero and sing your song,
Will history see it like you?


After all,
Stonewall made innocent civilians fall,
Regarded hero,
Instructed by a drunk,

Who are you?
What makes you so great?
Why are you right?
Why are you wrong?

In the end, I don’t care if you think,
Or ask yourself stated questions,
That’s not my biz,
Simply put...
It is what it is..
David Hasselblad Mar 2019
Porcelain Spider Under the Cellar Door

She sees a person as spool of yarn,
Taking your lifeline and threading it through her own needle,
Round and round you spin as she turns you into something to adorn,
Such an excellent seamstress the mindful spider is,
Sowing painted backless dresses to give the illusion of a spine,
Missing fragmented fractions of her web, she’s blind,
Stark, stacked illusions of what lies beyond a cellar door,
In the inner shadows of the light,
She fears no height, though bore in darkness,
Leg and fang she fought,
Fighting for frail frivolity of position and pose,
******* parts of souls in her aesthetic but potent web,
Missing lines, lanes, but layered intricately allowing illusion of a periled princess,
On her painted round ****, a red hourglass turns to eyes,
Dancing with half dead perspective “insects” assigning value,
Whispering lies,
Clinging to, now, a somewhat familiar light,
Never letting her eyes adjust she refuses to rise,
Periled perfection is her guise,
Hiding in the cracks of the steps and floor,
Content under the rusty bolted hinges of a cellar door,
She never has enough, even at the edge,
The rough taciturn of her mind is never set,
Keeping half dead insects, so long in her web,
Sometimes they expire,
Other times they break and breach her bountiful cacoon,
Falling into the abyss laying underneath that cellar door,
Some recover,
Some feel new found darkness never felt before,
She slides and falls frailly when situations slip from sight,
Using partially passed insects to patch her ornamental paint and aesthetic might,
Having brushed layers of color with their guts,
Shriveled, they fall away from her web,
Her web a half living, half dead farm
And she wails at their loss,
While spinning,
Another web..
She see a person as a spool of yarn...
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Quilt of Shade

Sheets of shadow fold,
Knitting new inches of a heavy quilt,
Nightmares and darkness to behold,
Causing love and happiness to wilt,

A horror of neglected emotions,
Each quilted square a new scene,
Pushing darkness, going through the motions,
Scalding showers to feel clean,

To feel warmth, inside and hide,
When opening to other makes you weak,
Pushing those who tried when you cried,
Counting only self when times are bleak,

Legions in a single square,
Each color a tainted shade,
Each one a devils badge to wear,
Constant weight, the feelings begin to fade,

Emotional pain, physically twists organs and nerves,
Living in the past,
Keelhauled by life’s curves,

Dead demons drone dour,
Drawing dimming desolate soul,
Crown of ruin at the top of this tower,
Devils whisper because angels would not cajole,

Wearing a mask to conceal your tears,
Painted in humor, smiles, offered assistance,
Under, a face scarred by fears,
Escaping shadow, the only consistence,

But shadow moves faster then light,
Understanding only gets you so far,
A devils hold, precise, contrite,
Changing, becoming the scar,

Labeled empty, hollow, fuckboi, or ***,
Forgetting sides, lost in a fight,
Offered hands but screaming ‘no!’
Pushing those who seek inner sight,

In prayer you crow,
To gods, devils, one to seven,
Cold, cursed, driven in flow,
To whoever will take you to heaven,

My mind these shadows pry,
Clinging to humanity,
Under distorted static you cry,
****** by hope and insanity,

Soul slipping in peril,
Through acts of good,
But still growing feral,
Those outside claim to see, but misunderstood,

Seeing self as no hero,
Hurt on levels weighing out the helped,
Karmic scales tip zero,
Tiny wounds sown but others scalped,

Lifetime member to the order of black,
Shadows that guide the annoying fly,
Showing light, deep down desire attack,
Good intentions always leading to an early goodbye,

Only oneself to blame,
Swatting hands that offer aid,
Just another piece in the devils game,
Just another lost sinful crusade,

Giving all to save,
Reflecting,  blood soaked, in a silver mirror,
Inside ones own mind, a slave,
Suddenly you’re the one your people fear,

Why children cower under the quilt,
Hero in war begins to debauch,
Confidently pushing your responsibility and guilt,
Becoming the old villains you used to watch,
David Hasselblad Mar 2019
The Scar due for Prep

Have you danced with darkness?
Minus, cliche bobble, pale moonlight?
No balance of step, nor vision of sight?
Have you danced with the darkness’ dastardly devils and devious demons?

Everyday divulging deep bleak colors contrasting societies soot lined shadows,
Showing shades of every face weary or strong that it makes you sick!
Fire in your iron lungs,
Pick! Who to burn next in your wanton web,

You yearn to see them torn and scream,
Sowing secret, sacred, scripts of suffering,
“Help me! I’m sorry friend!”
“Let me hug you, friend, and tend,” you’d pretend,

Even adopting a valued visage of light,
Easier to trap and less of a fight,
You think it makes you strong and gives you might,
You got cocky,

Was is greed that took the lead?
Perhaps phallus fueled foolishness,
An ego built pride where you rather would’ve died then had not tried,
Woe, my mental wars,

For I tried to eat a light,
I tried to eat her sight,
Her soul and absorb her might,
But my bite couldn’t swallow or chew,

Rampantly in anger I battled and battered,
Clinging to fleeing demons,
Bawdily bolting from the luminous light,
Till it was I, alone, in the fight,

Rage in every inch of me,
“Why does she look so calm? Don’t mock me! *******! F-U-U-C-K YOU!”
With fire in my eyes I glared,
Observing, she stared,

Then she asked me a question,
“What is wrong?”
My pride, my ego, my lust, my kingdom of slothful rust cried!
“Nothing!”

Then she gave me a glance,
Suddenly she was talking through my shadowy shields and swords,
To a side I had left, alone, long ago,
“What is wrong?”

Suddenly in silence I saw him,
On his knees, hands in black mist,
Me, no more then six, crying,
I wasn’t ******, or glad, or wrathful or mad,

“I’m sad!” I cried in emotional *****, heart sore,
Out of nowhere tears blitzed my face,
A foul feral weep I’d never heard before,
A symphony of suffering, I sowed galore,

How could I know?
That there was a sad little boy behind this ******?
Such a bitter and sweet gift to bestow,
Off to sleep sweet dancing darkness, it’s time for you to go,

A beginning of a journey for this new found soul,
Minus war of my mental mindscape,
Each step an accomplished goal,
Walking along the shallow banks of a warm peaceful shoal.
David Hasselblad Apr 2019
Soft Spot

Together we make a toxic blend,
Too potent to mend,
Too powerful to end,
Pretend, happiness, waiting for a god send,
Hurt, hope, horror and abuse,
Yet, I call her friend,
Who dangles dollops of devilish emotion,
A dizzying illusion of love,
Opening eyes, I saw clear as day,
Guilting me betrayer the day I sent myself away,
Her venomous words strike my mind bitter,
Bled, bruised, bounced in mental bouts,
Careless whispers caress my cold clouded heart,
Made numb, feeling dumb,
For giving into her another night,
Hindsight, I should’ve tried to fight,
Not let her and indentured demons eat my light,
Wasting another fortnight,
Zero reason to stay a loyal peon,
Each day endless,
every month an eon,
Her word, her law,
A self proclaimed queen,
Adored and feared in esteem,
Using those close,
She lives in a dream,
Bowing to no law, woman or man,
Her wrath boils water into steam,
I blame myself,
Not listenings to red flags sound their alarms,
Created by abuse, lies and emotional self harm,
Her tumbling prickly mind a maze,
Screaming at her demons in empty hallways,
Her partner in crime we poisoned each other,
She’ll stay by your side forever and always,
Crafted chimera we sought another,
Our toxin together brought the most powerful to dismay,
Eyes finally opened,
I began to rue each day,
Feeling more and more horrible,
How could I stay?
Through her I bared many scars,
Yet my mind brings her up a lot,
Though enemy, awful and evil,
Who bore me problems and pain,
She still remains, a soft spot,
Bruised, and remembered with distain,
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
The Funeral of Daniel Adams

We gather today,
Under granite sky,
To mourn and pray,
To celebrate and cry,

Daniel was a haunted soul,
Who loved his friends and kin,
Weight of the worlds toll,
Who bottled it all within,

An keen eye for art,
For beauty, music and life,
A large, giving heart,
Watercolored with strife,

Last time we spoke,
He promised he was okay,
Even ended on a joke,
Thinking it a good end to the day,

Daniel thought everyone was lying,
Wanted him around to use and pity,
Inside he was crying,
Hours, absently cruising the city,

Always answered his phone,
Any hour of the night,
Forgiving, but not one to condone,
Always had my back in a fight,

In the end,
He never sought care,
Only others he’d defend,
His plain truth, life isn’t fair,

Given this world a lot of good,
Even lost, he was there,
Lost in would’ve and should,
A dreamer, one to dare,

He dreamt of peace,
Of distant shores and bays,
His demons shackled, no cease,
Screaming at them in empty hallways,

I wish he sought someone out,
Reach out, when he was drowning,
Backup in his mental bout,
Before dark thought started crowning,

I would’ve listened,
If you needed aid, or to cry,
Now our eyes glisten,
You didn’t have to die,

You left a hole,
On my phone but not here,
Not just your own time stole,
Leaving us sorrow and a tear,

Celebrate your life, weep your death,
I wish you decided not to leave,
Shaking under my breath,
We love and grieve,

Just another year...
Instead we sing your song,
Thinking you’d always be near,
We’re confused, scared, hurt, we were wrong,

You were a good son,
A good brother,
Quick with a joke or pun,
Preaching peace among one another,

But drowned in his demons screams,
Droning out the song he sung,
Haunted in fever dreams,
When he turned his own gun,

Daniel, you know me,
I don’t easily rattle,
Just can’t believe I didn’t see,
Grieving you lost your battle,

We’ll always have your memory set,
Venting, emotions to release,
Know we’ll never forget,
Wherever you are, find your peace,
David Hasselblad Mar 2019
The Two Halves of the Third Eye

There once was a man,
Who possessed a third eye,
One hundred men called him boss,
One nation called him king,

False plans, built with a lie,
Each loss a flagrant sting,
Social struts, wearily wail,

Beatin’ social berserkers bide,
Biding time to bestow billable babal,
Babal their own perspective truth,
For the mad king employs a social sleuth,

There once was a man,
Who too possessed a third eye,
No one called him boss,
Only of his mind was he king,

Baring witness to chaos,
Hundred men with varied tasks,
Constant change, masks, zero growth,

Prosperous peace is what he quoth,
No qualms from flawed quartz courts,
No screaming in petty squabbles for bill or buck,
Just peace via peace, with a little bit of luck,

A man with sight is always bright,
Closest friends tight,
With height he releases rage and any petty slight,
A man of no flag, field, forge nor foundry,

Opening eyes to let others see,
Hundred men create individual chaos,
Blinding all to divide and conquer,
Winding, twisting, and perverting truth,

Idyllic statues of justice fade and collapse,
More money to fuel the kings greedy relapse,
As long as their is another man with light,
With a sight for people, for people,

For all of the kings *****, ******, might,
People for people will never cease this fight.
David Hasselblad Mar 2019
Toxic Healer

Reflecting wildly in reminiscent, eternal seconds,
I am not a bird or cat,
Cutting savagely in fractured minds,
Foolish I couldn’t see that,

I am an agitated growling beast,
Trying to help but tearing to shreds,
Treatment is a butchers surgery,
Selfish nature leaving me a feast,

Devilish smile in mask under slashing claw,
Yodeling certain sorrows that dawn wise learned woes,
Reciting what I see or once saw,
Growing flaws as nature flows,

Poison injected through playful bites,
Seconds too late, to mean no harm,
Temper short, I angrily try to help,
Chest tight in guilty grievance,

Envy for those who don’t feel,
Cold logic, calculated risks, emotions sealed,
I can’t help but try to heal,
Counting more hurt then helped,

Not my intention,
A point that is moot,
Facts lay in observed convection,
I truth I can’t refute,

Ever willing to learn,
To help heal and assist,
Breathe life that develops into a burn,
Over-focused there was always something I missed,

A just hell I feel their pain,
Caused by me or not,
I feel them scream, distressed,
So I take the shot,

Chastise and stare all you want,
One never knows when they are ready,
I try to grow steady,
At the end it’s me, my failures haunt,

Should I altogether stop?
I refuse to hate or abandon folk,
People trying to make it through their day,
Hearts guarded like seems of moccasins,

Maybe people shouldn’t come to me,
Sorry for the toxins,
David Hasselblad Aug 2019
Train Station in Autumn

A score of transports have passed,
Waiting for signs,
Held to a pains ticket gauging how long it would last,
My feet sprouting vines,

Words left unsaid,
Halted from fear and guilt,
Quivering whenever I coincide them as...
Because admitting it, is my pains hilt,

My sword as strong as my angle,
As strong as my instinct and steel,
Held pain, only creates a tangle,
Letting go, my Achilles heel,

Blood of future and past,
I wish I did more,
I didn’t know, it wouldn’t last,
Sitting at the train stations gift store,

I stay and hope and pray,
Waiting for a sign,
For a sign to move or stay,
The plan faulty in design,

To realize their train will never come by these tracks,
I still have my tickets to tomorrow,
My baggage bundled in tearing burlap sacks,
Move on from the sorrow,

I hear that train coming,
Destined for a new day,
Finally can start walking instead of running,
Maybe acceptance will make it decay,

The feeling will never be gone,
A void, where something should be,
Maybe the train will open a new dawn,
Time healed until another passing was to be,

From a reflection never born,
To someone who always checked in,
I got to pick the first bit of clothing she’d adorn,
Strength, kindness, willpower and empathy goes to my dear kin,

You vent, one listens,
Yet the folks at the train stop everyone has an ear,
A whistle blow, I hear the pistons,
Approaching the tomorrow train in anxiety and fear,

Believe, they are with me,
Holding faith in their belief in this untrained seer,
Stepping onto train, I and we,
Building anxiety as I listen to the train shift a gear,

Steel and steam pulling and coming to life,
My breath clutches, frozen,
Memories of a concerned grandfathers long run strife,
A child never to be where I put my throes in,

The compassionate, fiery soldier who was a sister who loved to discover,
Watching a familiar type of person still waiting with baggage in stow,
A familiar thought arising as they wait on another,
“Why. Did you have to go?”

For one I wish I had more time,
Another I wished I could’ve learned more, to see,
The loss felt for my child is prime,
So badly I wanted to trade, for instead it to be me,

I let learned principle restrain me from my mothers father,
My child I could’ve given full support and emotionally stay,
My dear kin told me not to bother,
... she promised. She’d be okay,

The train begins to move,
Breathing new air,
For myself and nothing to prove,
Keeping faith they will always be there,

The sky looks bright and blue,
Sleep was always restless and never tired,
This might be a good chance to grab a wink or two,
Finally sitting after all this turbulence I’ve mired,

I’ll still flinch at any of their names,
Time, faith and understanding,
We can’t always predict what the stars preordain,
We just hope we learn enough to cushion our landing,

With a legacy he lived long, learned, and had a life of progress,
Then our immortal fire who fought, Cared, tried,
So much to process,
I was never spiritually, but I cried,

To heaven, to hell,
Support goes a long way,
I feel I was ****** but that day I fell,
At that specific time, there was no price, I wasn’t willing to pay

The many night I so deeply cried,
Feeling as if karma has been taking her price,
“Manning up”, neglected emotions I set aside,
Nightmares, them alive only to awaken and be taken twice,

My ticket gone I feel insecure,
Clouds forming a bird with lightning in its wings,
New visions and sights to procure,
With all of the secrets that it brings,

Those passed loved me,
As I will, forever them,
From my emotions I can not longer flee,
Growing path and progress’ rooted stem,

The tracks lead me to my next stop on trip,
To learn and heal,
Listening, growing, trying to prevent others from a slip,
My lost can always be a passenger I’ll always feel,
However, I think it’s time.
For me to behind the wheel.
David Hasselblad Sep 2019
Why do you hate me?

I hate you because I see what I used to be,
I hate you because I am weak and insecure,
Because if I didn’t.. love I might see,
Because my childhoods impure,

I hate you because I lashed out on others,
It burns and I try to help me, myself and I,
Shifting my pain to another,
Anxiety twisting my guts to cry,

The child who spit and bit,
Who tore emotions to shreds,
Always alone, in a fit,
Knotting my brains threads,

Suffered like my brother,
Abandon fills my soul,
Even when my hearts a flutter,
Relationships a fanatics parole,

Childhood lessons, are a lack of love,
Behind progress of mental bars,
Abandoned faith, in I and above,
Til all I taste is hell and fallen stars,

I hate that it’s unfair,
Irreparable damage, I’d rather forget,
A twisted, burning nerve to care,
Feeling, letting you in, I’ll regret,

Can’t help but feel,
That it’s all some ****** manic coup,
Always believe I’m letting myself heal,
I hate, otherwise I might love you.

— The End —